


The Leopard Cannot Change Her Spots

by mldrgrl



Series: Adventures of The Lady Detective and The Writer [31]
Category: Californication (TV), The Fall (TV 2013)
Genre: Angst, Cold Feet, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 12:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11313399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mldrgrl/pseuds/mldrgrl
Summary: Stella is having second thoughts





	The Leopard Cannot Change Her Spots

Stella peruses the file in front of her with the most critical eye she can muster.  Her interest doesn’t really lie within the casefile itself, but the file handler.  The new detective under her purview is young, but seasoned.  She’d read his records upon his transfer and she liked what she saw then, but she likes it more even now.  She likes what she sees a lot.

 

Detective Charlie Moore is ex-military; four years with Her Majesty’s Armed Forces and six with the NCA upon his discharge.  His records reflect a by-the-book approach to the job, diligence, and a high solve rate.  One of his previous superiors noted that he is tough on criminals, empathetic with victims, and docile with authority.  She likes a man who knows how to be told what to do.

 

It’s been awhile since anyone has sparked her interest like this.  Over four years, to be exact.  There’s been a handful of people that have caught her eye, but nothing she seriously considered.  She couldn’t, of course.  That’s what being trapped in a relationship does - it takes the rest of the world out of consideration.  She misses that thrill of the unknown.  She wants that freedom again to explore a new body.  To have someone touch her who knows nothing about her.  Something purely physical that ends there without any other expectations.

 

The ‘wedding’ is only weeks away, and as it draws closer, she gets more anxious.  This isn’t supposed to be her life.  She had been quite content to be alone and to continue to be alone, so how had she let Hank disrupt her so completely?  How had she let it go this far?  And marriage?  Who is she kidding?  She’s not the marrying kind.

 

As she sees it, the only way to successfully put an end to this charade is to make sure the ties are severed thoroughly and with the utmost finality.  An affair will hurt Hank, deeply.  She worries a little that it isn’t enough of an unforgivable offense, considering his past with Karen, but they have a child together and she tells herself that it makes all the difference.  She and Hank share nothing.  The only thing that keeps them together is their will to do so, but it seems she’s lost the will.

 

As though he knows what she’s thinking, her cell phone rings and it’s Hank.  She silences the call and let’s it go to voicemail.  Detective Moore is due in her office in just a few moments and she needs to keep the pretense of his being summoned for a case review in mind and she’s only made a few notes so far.

 

As befits her expectations, Detective Moore is prompt, rapping at her door at the precise time she called for.    She puts down her pen, stands, and smooths her skirt down the front of her thighs before she crosses her office.  She purposefully wore an outfit for this meeting that Hank told her was ‘un-fucking-believably sexy as fuck,’ when she’d worn it before.  Black pencil skirt, low-cut red silk blouse, hair loose.  It’s stunningly easy to visually seduce a man.

 

Straight away, Stella can see how serious of a man Detective Moore.  He shakes her hand briefly and firmly, grunts out a quick ‘ma’am,’ and stands at attention until she offers him a seat in front of her desk.  He is rigid and a bit imposing, but she’s not in the least intimidated.  She sits across from him and opens up the copy of his casefile she was just reviewing with the tip of her pen.

 

“My apologies we were never properly introduced,” she said.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

 

“I’ve a few questions regarding your progress report.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

She proceeds with the official, business side of the meeting, questioning him on his casefile, offering insight on his working theories and giving him a few names and numbers of approved contacts the department uses for outside help.  His answers are short and blunt, and she wonders if he has a casual bone in his body.  Thus far, as far as she can tell, his eyes haven’t even drifted from her face.  The eye contact is not meant to be disarming, but a sign of respect.  She can certainly tell the difference.

 

She closes the file eventually and he prepares to leave, gripping the armrests of the chair with the intent to stand, but she lifts her hand a little and halts him.  She clicks her pen off, brushes her hair off her shoulder and sits back in her chair a little.

 

“Tell me about yourself,” she says.  

 

“What would you like to know, ma’am?”

 

“Why did you want to be a detective?”

 

He finally relaxes a bit and tells her about a childhood encounter that led him down his current path and she studies him as he speaks.  She looks at his hands, which are large and felt callused when he shook hers.  She likes a man’s hands to be a little rough, but not too rough, and not too large.  Hank has wonderful hands, maybe a bit too soft, but long, strong fingers and perfectly proportionate to the curves of her body.

 

Charlie Moore’s eyes are a dull shade of blue, nearly grey.  Eye color doesn’t mean much to her, but she sees no expression in his eyes when he speaks, not like Hank whose emotions seem to radiate from his hazel gaze.  She always feels like she can look at Hank and know exactly what he’s thinking just by the look in his eyes.

 

Stella can’t remember if she’s ever told Hank this, but one of her favorite parts of him are his arms.  The forearms are lean and tone, the biceps are muscular and strong.  As lean as he is, he’s stronger than he looks, and most of his strength is in his arms.  She feels it when he holds her up against a wall or lifts her easily into his lap.  Charlie Moore has broad shoulders and arms that bulge beneath his suit jacket, most definitely strong, but with breakable strength.  The shape of a gorilla, his was a body that snapped twigs, whereas Hank’s body is from the mold of Greek statues.

 

Stella stares at Charlie Moore’s mouth as his lips move.  He has thin lips, ones that disappear when his mouth is shut so that all you see is a dark slash across his face.  Nothing like Hank’s mouth, especially with that lush and overripe bottom lip that always seems ready to burst.  Sometimes she feels like Hank’s mouth was made for her pleasure.  He certainly knows how to use it.

 

Charlie Moore drones on.  She assumed him to be a man of few words, but given a topic he has clear interest in, detective work, he doesn’t seem to want to stop.  She blinks languidly and tries to imagine his body under hers, his mouth on her breasts, his hands at her hips, looking down into his eyes as she fucks her relationship with Hank out of her system.

 

And she can’t.  As much as she tries, it’s only Hank’s face she sees and his body under hers and his hands she can practically feel on her body, making her thighs ache and her breathing shallow.

 

“Newlywed?” Charlie Moore asks suddenly.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“I can’t help but notice the way you twist that wedding ring on your finger like you haven’t yet grown accustomed to it.”

 

She flexes her fingers and looks down at her hand where she has indeed been rolling the ring round and round with her thumb.  Detective Moore is the first person at work to ask her about it.  She’s seen others stare and take surreptitious glances at her hand, even heard a few whispers, but no one has asked her about the ring on her finger in the two months it’s been there.  Charlie Moore has only been with the department for a scant two weeks though and he doesn’t know her, which was the whole point of this meeting to begin with - to get to him before the rumors did.

 

“Are  _ you _ married, Detective?”

 

“No, ma’am.”

 

“Neither am I.  The ring is new, yes.  The wedding is next month.”

 

“Congratulations.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“I’m a bit surprised.”

 

“At what?”

 

“You’re well known outside of the department.  People talk.”

 

She shows no signs of surprise on her face, but she is surprised that he would be so bold as to bring outside conjecture into the conversation.  Most people don’t.  His voice contains no hint of malice, just a matter-of-fact tone that seems to imply he knows why he’s in her office.  

 

“What do people say?” she asks.

 

“That you’re tough.  You have high expectations, but you’re fair.  And you’re good at what you do.”

 

“What else do they say?”

 

“Nothing else worth repeating.  But, I was always under the impression you were a bit of a lone wolf.”

 

“Hm.”

 

“I’m also a bit of a lone wolf.”

 

Suddenly, she’s uneasy with this game.  She’s forgotten how distasteful she finds the mating dance to be.  Four years ago, she would have propositioned him directly, but she can not get a read on whether or not he’s interested.  And there’s too much at stake now to be so assuming.  Again, she tries to imagine fucking him right here and now, tries to imagine him bending her over her desk and giving her exactly what she wants.

 

And she can’t.  Who is Detective Moore to know what she wants?  He doesn’t know her.  Therein lies one of the inherent problems with a one-night stand.  If the sex is unsatisfactory, it’s just unsatisfactory.  If it’s good, it’s only fleeting.  She’s had regularly pleasurable sex for the last four years, so why she should take that risk now?  

 

“You may return to your case, Detective,” she says, dismissing him.

 

“Yes, ma’am.”  Detective Moore nods and stands.  She lowers her eyes and picks up another file on her desk, but watches him leave as soon as he turns his back.

 

“Detective,” she says, holding him back.

 

“Yes, ma’am?”

 

“Please keep in mind you are not in organized crime any longer.  Time is not a luxury in a murder case.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“Close the door behind you.”

 

She waits until Detective Moore is gone for a full minute to drop her head and press the pads of her fingers to her face.  What is she doing?  This is not the life she envisioned for herself, but all things considered, she’s not unhappy.  She loves Hank.  She loves coming home to him.  She loves fucking him.  She loves how he makes her feel.  She loves his daughter.  For fucks’s sake, she even loves his ex.  But, she is terrified that the love will fade and then she will have failed.  Stella Gibson doesn’t fail.

 

She remembers that Hank called her earlier and she rubs the bridge of her nose before she checks her voicemail.

 

“Hey, Sherlock,” Hank says, voice low.  “I’m at the dry cleaner’s and it reminded me that even though I was half-asleep this morning when you left, I seemed to notice you were looking especially sexy today.  It should be illegal, Stella, it really should.  And I’m picturing you at work, busting balls and taking names and looking like that.  I rubbed one out in the shower today, thinking about it.  

 

“I wasn’t going to call you at work, but then I thought, fuck it, you’re the one that let me see you in that skirt before you left and you  _ know _ how I feel about that skirt.  So, I just wanted to warn you.  As soon as you walk in that door tonight, I’ll be waiting.  I’m gonna hike up that skirt, tear your panties off with my teeth...wait, on second thought, I don’t want you wearing any panties.  Take them off at work before you come home, so when I do hike up your skirt, all I have to do is bury my face between your thighs and oh hey, they’re back with the pick-up, gotta go.”

 

Stella gives a little snort of amusement, but she’s also salivating so hard she’s nearly drooling.  Hank is the only man who’s ever been able to do this to her; get her so aroused, so quickly, and with only words.  Her thighs ache and her ring finger itches.  Damn him.

 

The End


End file.
